Pickpocket
by roodlz
Summary: Cap told their rag tag group of 'Avengers' to earn their keep by fair and legal means. Tony thought that pickpocketing could totally be considered fair, because really, he was just a wake up call to personal security. He just never imagined that trying to pickpocket up and coming businessman Loki Laufeyson would cause him so much grief. (kid!fic AU)
1. Tony was eight

**A/N: **Hello, all! I've been sitting on Pickpocket for awhile, and there are four chapters up on AO3, soon to be five. I realized I needed to play a game of catch up, so here I am with the first chapter!

At some point, I had the idea of 'What if Tony was a pickpocket? What if Tony tried to pickpocket _Loki_?!' It spiraled from there. Pickpocket is a slow build story, and it'll take a little while to reach the events of the story summary. In the meantime, there's plenty of angst to be had with kid!Tony to keep you occupied!

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><p>Tony didn't remember much about being eight. Well, he remembered some things.<p>

He remembered his father always being busy, and that his mother never seemed to be around, unless they were holding a fancy banquet in the mansion's ballroom. He remembered the family butler, Jarvis, who snuck Tony cookies after dinner when Howard said eight years old was too old for dessert. He remembered spending a lot of time in the tool shed, tinkering with the old TVs and lawnmowers that Jarvis managed to sneak in when his father was locked in his lab.

He built his first engine at eight, though his dad didn't really care. Jarvis said it was marvelous, and the gardener was proud to use Tony's first motor on his favorite lawn mower. Uncle Obie ('Call him Obadiah, Anthony,' his father used to say) told Tony that he was a genius, and he started bringing Tony blueprints for guns and rockets whenever he visited.

At eight, Tony had never gone to school with other kids, so he mostly remembered things about the mansion, and completing coursework with a tutor. He studied engines and schematics with Uncle Obie, and if he was really good, he got to design things himself.

But the thing he remembered most was the squealing of tires, the sound of glass shattering, a huge, fiery explosion, and then the thought that he was dying, and would never see the world or build anything again.

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><p>He was driving with his parents somewhere. He didn't really remember where. He had been excited, and was running from end to end in the limo, peering out windows, and tapping on the privacy window just to see if he could get a rise out of Jarvis, who had filled in for their sick usual driver.<p>

"Anthony, knock it off. Let the man do his job," his father had barked, but his mother sent him a secret wink that made the rebuff easier to take. Even though she wasn't around much, Tony's mom was amazing when she was.

Settling down into his seat, Tony looked glanced out of the tinted window, frowning.

"Dad, aren't cars s'posed to stop at stop signs?"

"It's _supposed_, Anthony. And yes, they are supposed to stop."

"Then why isn't that one?" Tony asked, pressing his face against the glass to watch as a large SUV like his father's body guards drove sped towards them.

His father twisted in his seat to look out the window, and before he could reply there was a screech of metal on metal, the distinct smell of gasoline that Tony recognized from his father's workshop and his tool shed. They skidded sideways, and the front of the limo wrapped around a light pole. There was red stuff on the privacy window, and Tony felt sick when he remembered that Jarvis had been driving them.

The windows shattered, and he was picked up, his mother's perfume mingling with the smell of gasoline and metal. There was lots of yelling. Then he was pushed through a broken window, bits of glass getting in his hair and on his clothes, and his mother screamed, 'RUN!'

Tony hit the sidewalk and landed on his knees; they were scraped, and he felt so, so dizzy, and then the limo started burning, and it was so _hot_. Gasoline burns, his brain told him, and Tony scrambled backwards, wanting to go back and find his mother, and help his father, but then the limo just _exploded _and there was nothing left but flames.

Tony was blasted backwards, and it hurt so bad, worse than his worst tummy ache, and where was his mom, was he gonna die?

His chest hurt, and he screamed, louder and louder, and then there were arms around him, and he felt safe, but it still hurt too much to think, and then he doesn't remember anything from when he was eight.

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><p>Tony remembered a little more about being nine. After the car accident, he met Dr. Yinsen, who saved him from the explosion, and he had to stay in bed all the time, because his chest hurt.<p>

He missed his parents (but he missed Jarvis most) and he cried a lot, but Dr. Yinsen was always there to give him a hug. Dr. Yinsen explained the 'electromagnet' that glowed like a nightlight in his chest, and Tony knew that it was repelling something, and that something was inside him, because he was a smart cookie, according to his mom, and a genius if you asked Uncle Obie.

"What is it actually doing?" Tony asked one day, running his fingers over the circle of metal sticking out of his chest, frowning at the blue-white glow it cast on his hand.

Dr. Yinsen got that sad smile his mom used to get whenever his dad wasn't very nice, and he ruffled Tony's hair, which was something new and he kind of liked it.

"When the limousine exploded, bits of metal lodged into your chest," the doctor murmured, pressing his index finger against a scar right above the electromagnet that was still sore. "Those bits of metal were headed straight for your heart. You would have died, if we hadn't put in your electromagnet."

"So…my electromagnet keeps them out of my heart, huh?" Tony inquired, looking down at the glowing contraption.

"Correct."

"Wicked."

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><p>Then Tony was ten, and he had been with Dr. Yinsen for a while. Dr. Yinsen told Tony he was the son he never had, and Tony thought that it would've been really awesome if his mom had met Dr. Yinsen in college instead of his real dad.<p>

Sometimes he wondered why it didn't feel very different being ten, instead of nine, or even eight, but then he remembered that his chest didn't hurt anymore, that his mom and dad were dead, but he was still kind of happy.

Dr. Yinsen wouldn't let Tony go to public school, because of his electromagnet. He said, 'It's dangerous, and accidents happen all the time, Anthony.'

Sometimes Tony got upset, because he really wanted to play with other kids, wanted to feel 'normal', but then Dr. Yinsen would bake cookies and make macaroni and cheese, and it was okay again.

Usually Tony was okay with being homeschooled, because he got to stay home and work on building circuit boards and robots, because he was still a genius even with an electromagnet embedded in his chest.

He got special classes with Dr. Yinsen, and there was nice tutor who came to see him. He was great at math and science, and occasionally he got too jittery to read the books he was assigned for English, but it was okay because he got all A's.

Sometimes, if Dr. Yinsen had to go away on a conference, a man in a suit named Phil would come over, and they'd watch Super Nanny and take apart Phil's taser when Tony got bored.

Occasionally Tony forgot that he was Tony Stark before he was Tony Yinsen. They didn't talk about it much, but Tony remembered that his first dad was important and smart, and they had a really big house. Dr. Yinsen lived in a huge apartment in a nice neighborhood that was a few blocks away from his clinic, but it still wasn't as big as his old house.

Tony had his own room, with his very own bed that he got to paint red and gold. Tony accidentally got some paint on the baseboards, but Dr. Yinsen said it didn't matter. He never got mad like his first dad did.

When Tony turned ten, he got his own little 'workshop' in his room, tucked into a corner. He liked to take things apart, and put them back together. Sometimes he built new things, and sometimes he'd nick the TV turner and Dr. Yinsen's pager and make them better, though Dr. Yinsen wasn't always happy when Tony wanted to 'fix' his cell phone.

Dr. Yinsen was really proud when Tony showed him a circuit board he put together. It was the first of many parts he made for a robot he wanted to build. They went out for pizza when Tony finished coding his first robot. It wasn't a super smart robot, and Tony named him Dummy, but he moved and knocked things over, and he was still pretty cool. It was one of the few times Tony got to leave the apartment, and it was one of the best things he remembered about being with Dr. Yinsen.

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><p>Then Tony turned eleven, and everything was ruined. Tony had forgotten that he was still Tony Stark, though he went by Tony Yinsen. Things had been wonderful, and he was happier than he ever remembered being when he was Tony Stark, but the one thing his first dad had always told him was that happiness doesn't last.<p>

One day, there was pounding on the front door, and there was a lot of yelling. Dr. Yinsen rushed into Tony's room, opening the window.

"Anthony," he said, and his normally soft voice was very urgent, and Tony was terrified.

Dr. Yinsen handed Tony the toolkit that was just for his electromagnet, with spare parts inside. There were extra 'batteries', wires, a miniature soldering iron, and a 24-in-one tool that had super tiny screwdrivers. Tony was an expert on his electromagnet by now, probably the only other one in the world besides Dr. Yinsen, and he wasn't allowed to have his toolkit unless it was super important.

Then his favorite hoodie, with **Fe** for iron embroidered on the front, was pulled over his head, and Tony felt like crying as he shoved his feet into his sneakers.

"You are an amazing boy, Anthony," Dr. Yinsen murmured, pressing a kiss to Tony's forehead. Then Tony started crying, and he hugged his second dad tight, even as the pounding got louder.

"I love you, Anthony. You will always be my son."

"You'll always be my dad," Tony hiccupped, burying his face into Dr. Yinsen's shirt.

Then Dr. Yinsen whispered into his ear, "No matter what, never tell anyone that you are Anthony Stark. Do you understand?"

Tony nodded, swallowing hard, but his throat was dry.

"Can I use Yinsen?"

Dr. Yinsen shook his head, pulling away. The sad smile was back, and Tony's heart hurt for the first time in months.

He hugged his second dad again, and then there was a crash that sounded a lot like the front door breaking off its hinges, and then he was shoved out the window and onto the fire escape.

Tony looked over his shoulder, wiping at his face as he stammered, "I-I love you!"

"I love you too, Anthony," Dr. Yinsen said, leaning through the window to press a finger against Tony's electromagnet.

"Grow up to be a good man, Anthony. You have a very special heart."

Tony's head snapped up when his bedroom door cracked in the middle, and he knew there was only a few seconds before the door would break.

"Run!" Dr. Yinsen shouted just as the door exploded. Tony scrambed down the ladder, clutching his toolkit and tried to imagine that he didn't hear gunshots like in the movies Dr. Yinsen didn't like him to watch. He was eleven, and everything was ruined.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!<em>


	2. Just Keep Walking

**A/N: **Chapter two, an introduction for Tony to the hateful world outside Dr. Yinsen's apartment. It starts picking up after this, but it's still a bit until we hit the actual pickpocket bit with Vaguely Fatherly Loki making an appearance. Never fear, though. He'll arrive. Eventually.

Please allow for the suspension of disbelief on electromagnets/arc reactors. I can't science.

No beta so all errors are mine. Feel free to volunteer, it won't hurt my feelings. Thanks for reading!

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><p>When Tony's feet hit the pavement after dropping from the fire escape, he started running.<p>

He hadn't been outside the apartment more than a handful of times, and he had no idea where he was or where he was going, only that he _could not stop_.  
>He ran until his chest ached and his lungs burned and he could be dying but Yinsen was <em>dead<em> and what if they found him?

It was dark by the time he stumbled into an even darker alleyway (which didn't make sense, but it did) and collapsed in a heap on a pile of cardboard boxes. His electromagnet was buzzing loudly from the extra strain he'd put on his body, and it was all he could do just to pull out his toolkit and fumble in the dark for the right screwdriver. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

His chest was burning, tendrils of pain snaking their way through his shoulders and stomach and down his back, and he had to bite down hard on the handle of another screwdriver to keep from screaming.

Yanking up his hoodie and t-shirt, Tony popped the 'blackout' casing so that he could work with it, a bright blue-white glow lighting up his little corner of the alleyway. Levering the screwdriver in, Tony worked only by feel until he could adjust the output, twisting it three turns to the left. The buzzing faded and he could breathe easier, his chest no longer on fire.

Whimpering, Tony put the blackout casing back on, and put away his tools, breathing heavily through his nose in an attempt to meditate like Dr. Y-...someone had taught him. He purposely did not think about his apartment, or gunshots, or the smell of twisted metal and gasoline.

Instead, he took stock of what he _did_ have, which was absolutely nothing.  
>He had no money, no food, no extra clothes. Just his toolkit, his favorite hoodie, and the clothes on his back.<p>

His mind settled a bit as he continued breathing, and he was able to think a little more clearly. Something ached in his chest, and he decided to say it was the electromagnet, even though he knew very well that wasn't it.

He had nothing. Except his brain. Which was actually a pretty big something. He was a genius, right? There was no reason why he couldn't make it work.

With that thought in mind, Tony slipped his toolkit under his shirt and into the waistband of his jeans. Snuggling down in his hoodie, he shifted until he'd found something resembling comfort on top of the cardboard. Praying that the morning would not find him dead or maimed, Tony drifted into an uneasy sleep.

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><p>The next morning, Tony awoke with a start, a scream still trapped in the back of his throat.<p>

The city had come alive and the sounds of car horns and the chatter of people filled the air. Even outside his chosen alleyway, plenty of people walked by without noticing him, chatting away on their cellphones or too deeply absorbed in their coffee to pay any mind to the undersized eleven year old huddled on a pile of cardboard.

He figured if he _had_ screamed, they wouldn't even notice.

Getting to his feet, Tony cataloged an entire array of aches and pains in his muscles and joints. Feet throbbing all the way to his toes, he shuffled out of the alleyway, raising a hand against the glaring sunlight that had managed to break its way through the layers of smog.

As the gears in his mind started clicking into place, Tony decided that the first order of business would be to find some place to stay. He would establish a base of operations, and from there, he would forage for food, and find a way to make money. He could do this.

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><p>"Stupid, stupid Tony," Tony snarled as he wiped at his nose, where water continually dripped onto his head from an overhead pipe.<p>

He'd been turfed out of half a dozen potential hideouts by overzealous teenagers and street rats. Turns out that being a genius didn't mean jack shit when you were on the streets. It just meant they had something to thump you for.

Tony was smart enough to realize that he was getting a 'reality check'. It wasn't enough that he was an orphan, with an electromagnet in his chest, but he was also severely out of his depth when it came to coping with the real world.

Yinsen had sheltered him; kept him safe and sound from the real world and those who would hurt him for being Tony Stark. But it hadn't been enough, and now Tony was alone.

He could tell that there was potential on the streets. The potential to survive, based on the sheer number of homeless kids crawling around alleyways and parks. Kids were crawling out of the woodwork, and there had to be _somewhere_ that would take him in. He just had to keep looking.


	3. Cheeseburgers

**A/N: **Hey, everyone! Still working to build up momentum on Pickpocket and more chapters to Not a Cellist. I'm slow, though. Please bear with me!

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><p>In the novels he had read, in both a mansion and an apartment, Tony had always imagined starvation as missing lunch, and feeling really, really hungry by the time dinner rolled around. It was a hollow feeling in his belly, and he just wanted to fill it. Starvation only lasted a little while, and then it was over and done. That's how he had always experienced it.<p>

After spending a few weeks on the streets, scrounging through trash cans, begging, and occasionally snicking a Starbucks muffin from somebody's purse, Tony wondered if he would ever eat again. He could feel his ribs, and he had lost weight, not to mention how tired he was all the time. Some days, he could barely summon up the energy to crawl out of his cardboard box and go looking for something to eat.

Other kids didn't really bother him once they figured out he was just some stupid undersized runt who had nothing to offer. Tony figured it didn't help that he was really, _really_ bad at interacting with other kids. He never got to see anyone when he was with Dr. Yinsen, so when they made fun of him or even just tried to talk to him, Tony got really sarcastic and mean.

The result? An ugly gash at the end of his right eyebrow. It turned out kids didn't like it when their intelligence was insulted. Not that any of them were that smart anyways.

In the end, Tony decided to start walking until he couldn't walk anymore. It surprised him how adults were able to overlook a scruffy street urchin, but it served him well enough as he ducked through crowds and headed towards Central Park. He liked to stop there, and watch people with families. Real ones, where the mothers and fathers were attentive and _alive_. The kids got food and hugs, and were wearing clothes that were clean and warm enough for the onset of fall.

He shivered reflexively as the wind picked up, kicking up piles of leaves and swirling them over the sidewalk. He liked the leaves and their bright colors, but he could have done without the wind. Trudging on, Tony caught sight of a rough looking man in a brown leather jacket, seemingly unaffected by the chilly breeze. He had a fast food bag sitting next to him, rolled down to reveal two burgers and a sleeve of fries.

Tony wasn't sure if he'd ever drooled that much in his life. Surely the guy didn't need _both_ burgers, right? The idea to take one rooted itself in Tony's brain. Dr. Yinsen's voice echoed in the back of his head, saying that stealing was wrong, but Dr. Yinsen was _gone_ and Tony was hungry so sometimes doing the wrong thing was necessary.

He had spent hours watching other kids pickpocket people and make it look easy. He had the theory down, he was just worried about the follow through.

"If you want to eat, you've got to take it first," Tony growled under his breath. He could do this.

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><p>Stealing burgers apparently wasn't Tony's forte. The attempt to steal the guy's burger ended with Tony hauled up by his hood, dangling from the guys grip like a rag doll. He kicked and struggled, but the guy wasn't fazed.<p>

"What do you think you're doing, bud?" The man asked, popping a fry in his mouth to chew while Tony mulled over his answer.  
>"Nothin'."<br>"Didn't look like nothin'."  
>"Well it was. Nothing, that is."<br>"You try to steal food often?"  
>"Does it matter?"<p>

The guy gave Tony a good shake, keeping him in the air while reaching for another fry.

"Sure does. Where are your parents, kid?"  
>"Home."<br>"Where's home?"

Tony squirmed uneasily, tilting his head to the right.  
>"That way?"<br>"You sound so sure," the guy muttered, waving a fry in front of Tony's nose before eating it.  
>"Do your parents know you're wandering Central Park in filthy clothes? Did you know I've lifted sacks of potatoes heavier than you?"<p>

Tony snorted, pulling at the neck of his hoodie, which was starting to choke him.  
>"Not my problem."<p>

"I'll let you down if you start answering me honestly," the guy growled, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Was he one of those 'Candy + Windowless Van' guys? It didn't really matter, because candy nor not, Tony was kind of screwed. Unable to do anything else, Tony nodded.

He gasped for air when his hoodie stopped pressing against his throat, but he was quick to notice the guy still had a hand fisted in his hood, the other preoccupied with unwrapping a cheeseburger.

"Alright, kid. We'll try this again. Where are your parents?"  
>"Dead," Tony ground out.<br>"Guardians?"  
>"D-dead," Tony hiccupped. It had been a couple of weeks, but it still gave him nightmares. He missed Dr. Yinsen.<br>"Orphanage?"  
>"No."<br>"Warm place to sleep at night?"  
>"No."<br>"Hungry?"  
>"Yesss," Tony hissed, wishing the guy would stop being a jerk and either let him go or feed him.<p>

The guy moaned around his first bite of cheeseburger, Tony's stomach growling in time. He yelped when he was hauled up onto the park bench, swallowed by his hoodie and the shadow of the man next to him. A cheeseburger dropped into his lap, and Tony didn't care if he cried like a girl. It was _food_. He fell upon the burger, scrambling to rip the paper off and cram as much of it as he could fit in his mouth.

"Slow down kid, you're gonna make yourself sick," the man chided, which had Tony slowing his bites and taking time to chew. He'd never been allowed burgers, and it seemed so unfair now as the flavors filled his mouth. This was delicious. He licked his fingers after, identifying ketchup and mustard, not ashamed to eye the man's fries, which were shoved at him with a gruff sigh.

With the cheeseburger and fries scarfed down in record time and his tears wiped away, Tony slumped against the bench, drifting in a haze of content. He was still hungry, but it had tasted so good, and he felt like he could relax.

"So. No place to go at all, eh?"  
>"No," Tony murmured, closing his eyes to the sun and taking deep breaths. This was when the guy was supposed to pat him on the head and send him off to freeze to death, without any weight on his conscience.<p>

"Good. We just lost our courier, and happen to have a job opening for an errand boy. You look like you would fit the bill."

Tony opened one eye, frowning. Was he hearing things?

"Don't look at me like that. Charles would skin me alive if I let you run off on your lonesome. Plus, we can pay you under the table. Saves money somewhere. Up and at 'em, kid."

The guy stood up from the bench, stretching his arms above his head, hissing in satisfaction when several vertebrae popped. Tony sat up straighter on the bench, wringing his hands nervously. Was he supposed to go with this guy? Just like that?

"Time's a wastin', punk. I don't have all day, and you could do with some dinner and a change of clothes."  
>"Where are we going?"<br>"Westchester County, New York."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome!<em>


	4. Safe Haven

**A/N: **Hello, all! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed Pickpocket! Each review means a lot, and I really enjoy hearing what others think/feel!

So, here's chapter four. We're kind of creeping along, until I can build up to the next stage in poor Tony's angst-ridden existence. Chapter five is in the works, so it shouldn't be too long!

As always, no beta. All errors are mine!

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><p>The guy that, for all intents and purposes kidnapped Tony, went by Logan. He was in his mid twenties, and worked closely with Charles Xavier, a man that ran a school for gifted (see: troubled) children in upstate New York. Tony stayed silent while Logan explained the place to him, staring out the window and marveling at the scenery as he wondered what was in store for him.<p>

It took Logan an hour and a half to battle afternoon traffic and get them to 'Xavier's School for Higher Learning'. It functioned as a prep academy for kids that were sometimes too smart for their own good, and got into trouble a lot. Logan or 'Wolverine' as the kids called him, taught close quarters combat, and liked to make sure the grounds were kept up with.

Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to know why these kids needed to know how to fight, but he kept his mouth shut as Logan showed him the property. The mansion was impressive, and reminded him of his first parents, though he was quick to stuff the memory back where it belonged. Kids and teenagers roved the property, studying in gardens and playing on open patches of lawn, only a few sparing Tony curious looks.

"Were any of these kids kidnapped by strange men in the park?" Tony asked once the shock of seeing the grounds had worn off.  
>"Do you normally go with strangers who offer you food?" Logan shot back, and Tony could admit that he'd been pretty stupid.<p>

Dr. Yinsen would have grounded him for weeks if he had caught Tony going with strangers. Not that Tony was even able to see strangers to begin with, but still.

"Do you have a name? I can't go around introducing you as 'Filthy Street Rat'."  
>"You could call me 'Kid I Abducted with Cheeseburger Bait'. KIACB. It rolls right off the tongue."<br>"No one likes a smart ass."  
>"Tony."<br>"What?"  
>"My name's Tony."<br>"Got a last name?"  
>"Nope."<p>

Logan huffed out an irritated sigh, distracting Tony from the hand that cuffed him upside the head, leaving his ears ringing.

"Listen, kid. You're going to be living off Professor Xavier's charity. Stop the smartass shit and do what you're told, and he might just keep you around."

Rubbing a spot above his ear, Tony had to bite his lip in order to keep from mouthing off. Logan wasn't Dr. Yinsen. Logan couldn't tell him what to do. Except a tiny voice in his said that this was a chance to keep himself alive, and he should really just be quiet and shut up.

What he really wanted to do was cry, because this was all going so fast, and he could smell gasoline and hear gunshots, "You have a good heart, Anthony" reverberating around his skull. Logan was talking at him, and then he was shaking him, and finally he slapped Tony's cheek a few times, only hard enough to get his attention and snap him out of the flashbacks.

"Are you one of those kids that has panic attacks?" He asked, no judgment in his tone.  
>Tony nodded once, taking deep, gasping breaths, gradually slowing his breathing down so that he was breathing in through nose and out through his mouth. He looked up at Logan, who looked like he was walking the line between concerned and pissed off, which was kind of weird to see on the guy's face.<p>

"Is it going to keep you from working?"  
>"No!" Tony said, a little too quickly. "I just...it's only been a few weeks. It'll get better. I think."<br>"Right. Let's go meet Xavier and see how he feels about homeless punks."

Logan's tone suggested that Charles Xavier had to deal with homeless children more often than he'd like. The walk around the mansion took awhile as they headed towards the maintenance entrance in the back. Logan said it wasn't really proper to bring dirty homeless kids through the front door.

"How many other kids are like me?"  
>"What do you mean?"<br>"Street kids. Kids messed up in the head. Kids without parents," Tony clarified, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie to disguise the fact that they were shaking.

"Enough. You won't be the first. Act grateful," Logan instructed as they walked inside an outer door, that looked like a tool shed. Coats hung on one wall, ranging from light zip up hoodies to thick, heavy coats that looked very...maintenance-like. Boots were lined up on the floor, some caked with mud and others clean. A few pairs of sneakers were there as well, all cleaner than Tony's; probably smelled better too.

The other wall featured tools, from hammers and saws to rakes and garden hoes. There were a few tool belts, a work bench, and tucked in the far corner was a bicycle, far too small for Logan or any other adult to use (unless they were into BMX or something).

"That's the courier bike. You'll be running packages and mail and shit around the mansion grounds and in town. Short ride away, nice folks. Charles does a lot of business with them, building goodwill for the punks that don't quite get the purpose of their stay here. C'mon. No sense in keeping him waiting."

Tony scrambled to follow Logan as he lengthened his strides, navigating the maze of a mansion with ease. The temptation to stop and peer in rooms that functioned as computer and science labs was overwhelming, but Logan took care of it by grabbing a handful of Tony's hood and dragging him along.

As they made their way up a set of narrow stairs set at the back of the house, the mansion took on an eerie silence. Their footsteps were hushed by thick blue carpeting, and Tony marveled at the sensation of sinking into the floor with each step. While he was wondering what it would feel like to be barefoot, Logan led/dragged him down the corridor, in which carpet had given way to polished wood. They stopped in front of a large, ornately carved door. The wood looked old, but the keypad mounted at waist height was state of the art. Tony itched to get his hands on it and tear it apart and see how it worked, but Logan had other ideas.

Logan knocked, and Tony could hear the snick of a lock and hydraulics at work as the door opened. Following Logan over the threshold, Tony's jaw dropped. Before him was a study that dwarfed anything from his first dad's mansion. Dr. Yinsen's study had been nice, but nothing like the study in Xavier's mansion. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, the shelves full of classics and books on history and more topics than Tony could really dream of. The wall that would have been on the outside of the mansion featured a wide fireplace, the flames banked low but still keeping the room warm.

A large desk faced the door from the center the room, a bald man seated behind it. He was thumbing through a sheaf of papers, occasionally marking in the margins with a blue fountain pen.

"Is that your tag along, Logan?" The man asked without looking up.  
>"Yup. He's a little mouthy, but I think he'll do a good job."<br>"Why don't you step outside for a moment, Logan? I would like to speak with Anthony alone."

Tony felt a trill of alarm go off in his head, chills racing up his spin and leaving the hair on his arms standing up. It felt as if someone dumped ice water over him, and he was more than alert as Logan saluted Xavier and sauntered out the door, whistling as it shut behind him.

"Logan says he found you in Central Park, attempting to divest him of a cheeseburger," Xavier began, setting aside his paperwork then clasping his hands on his blotter.

Tony had heard no such thing. When had Logan found the time to talk to Xavier and tell him his name? Had Tony ever called himself Anthony? Should he be rethinking this whole 'Going With Strangers' plan?

Plan B featured running off the property as fast as he could and finding somewhere to stay, because this was all too sketchy to be remotely safe. Even if he did run, he didn't even know where to stay in New York City, let alone Westchester County.

"Y-yeah," Tony stuttered, hating himself for the weakness. The kids on the street weren't weak. Tony wished he could be like them, instead of the kid he was when he ran from Dr. Yinsen's apartment.

"Stealing is a less than admirable trait, Anthony. Why should I let a would-be thief into my school and trust him with my correspondence?"

It hit Tony, as his chest constricted under his electromagnet, that he felt _guilty_ about it. That he hadn't felt guilty in a couple of weeks and Dr. Yinsen would have wanted him to feel guilty, because that meant that he knew the difference between right and wrong. He did, he really did.

"I..." Tears welled up in his eyes, and he furiously wiped them away with a grimy sleeve. He wanted to go home. He wanted to _have_ a home.

Xavier waited, his expression serene as he and Tony locked gazes. Tony wanted to trust this man.

"I didn't...I was so hungry, sir. I haven't...there's no food where I live. Logan had more than one cheeseburger and I didn't think about it. I didn't mean to upset him."

"Where do you live, Anthony?" Again, Xavier's eerie sense of knowing made Tony uneasy.  
>"New York City."<br>"Where in New York City?"

_Crap._

"Umm...somewhere near Central Park? I don't know the street name."  
>"Surely you know where you live, Anthony," Xavier said with a disarming smile. "A boy your age is smart enough to know his own address."<br>"I...uh...it depends on the weather."  
>"Your address does? What impact would the weather have on your address?"<p>

Sighing, Tony ran a hand through his greasy hair, wishing he could take a long, hot shower. Knowing miracles didn't exist, he stuffed his hands back into his hoodie pocket and opted for honesty, since that worked so well with these weird people.

"If it's nice, I can stay in an alleyway or something. If it's raining, I find an overpass and hope the kids are nice enough to share a spot by the fire or something. Sometimes I stay in sewer drains, if they're big enough," he mumbled, dropping his head to stare at the carpet.

"Where are your parents, Anthony?" Xavier asked, not unkindly. His voice was gentle, and when Tony peeked out from the fringe of his hair, the man's brow was furrowed with what looked like concern.

"Dead."  
>"Guardians? Relatives?"<br>"Dead. I don't have any relatives."  
>"What's your name?"<br>"Anthony. But I like Tony better."  
>"Your last name?"<br>"I don't have one."

Xavier sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair while observing Tony's shuffling in place. Tony figured this was when he got shipped off to an orphanage or something, where they would figure out his secret and then he'd be studied like a lab rat. His hand twitched in an attempt to cover his electromagnet, but he managed to look like he was fidgeting.

"You certainly wouldn't be the first orphan to end up on my doorstep, Tony. Others have done far worse than steal food from Logan to end up here. If you were to work as our courier, I would pay you an hourly wage. You will be required to attend classes where you can, and you will be assigned additional chores since you will be a scholarship case."

Nodding along, Tony realized that he felt numb. Was he really going to get the chance to go to school? The offer seemed too good to be true, but he clung to the hope that Charles Xavier truly was a good man.

"I want your assurance that you won't attempt to steal from this school, Anthony. I do not abide thieves or deception."

Tony looked up, panicked.

"No! I won't steal, ever. I promise! I-I could make it up to you and Logan...I'm really good at fixing things! I know how computers run and I'm smart and I already know I can make your locks better and I...I can be _good_, Professor Xavier," Tony explained in a rush, his voice cracking. He didn't want to be a bad kid. He wanted to be good.

Xavier's expression softened, and he moved out from behind the desk, the whirring of an electric motor distracting Tony from his misery. The man was in a modified electric wheelchair, and Tony wanted nothing more than to plunge his hands into the wiring. He rolled around the desk and stopped in front of Tony, leaning forward to chuck him under the chin with two fingers.

"I have every faith that you can, Anthony. We'll get you a bath and some clothes to start with, and then we'll see about dinner. Tomorrow, you will take placement tests, and we will see to it about your job. Does that sound amenable to you?"

Tony nodded, sniffling slightly while lifting silent prayers that his heart wouldn't beat louder than his electromagnet. He heard the door open again, and looked up as Logan strolled in with a lazy grin and an armful of clothes.

"Time to wash up, kid. You stink."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!<em>


	5. Testing 1,2,3

**A/N: **

Whoa! Sorry it took me so long! Ugh. This has been kind of sitting, while I stared at it and willed it to do something. It eventually did. Sort of. So! This is the last bit of pre-Avengers exposition before things start kicking in gear. Loki is still a little ways out, but soon!

I'd like to thank everyone for their reviews/favs/follows! Pickpocket will keep on, slowly but surely.  
>Another thank you to my beta <strong>BigTimeHiddlestoner<strong>. You rock.

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><p>Waking up was a little terrifying. The clean sheets and clothing were unfamiliar, as was the room he had been sleeping in. Looking around, Tony determined that it was small, but not restrictive, boasting a bed, nightstand (with a lamp), dresser, desk, chair, and a window with red curtains. Panic quickly set in, because waking up on the streets was normal; waking up in a bed was almost scary. He struggled to breathe in and out, trying to calm down enough to remember where he was. Logan. Xavier. He was at Xavier's school, because he'd tried to steal Logan's cheeseburger. Right.<p>

After a few minutes of sounding like a dying fish, Tony slid out from under the sheets and crept over to the window, pushing the curtains to the side to peer out at the carefully manicured lawn that was bathed in morning light. The grounds were just as big as they were the day before, but were empty of any other kids running around. He recalled Logan telling him that his room was on the back of the mansion, nestled in amongst the rooms of other faculty and staff and a few students who weren't suited to living with roommates in the dormitories.

He'd gotten a shower the night before (which had felt really freaking great) after dinner, but he figured it couldn't hurt if he slipped into the connecting restroom to take another. He'd been a zombie by the time he got to bed, and while he'd expected to oversleep,Tony's internal clock tick-tick-ticked in the back of his mind, reminding him that he needed to be ready to go when Logan showed up at 8 AM to haul him off to breakfast and then "aptitude testing".

It was six something according to his radio clock, which was the time Tony had programmed himself into waking up so he could get to the soup kitchen and maybe score some bread or oatmeal. It took skill, pretending to be someone's kid, and usually he could get away with it. There had been days when Tony had nearly gotten caught and dragged away by the police, but those days were few and he'd escaped with his identity unknown. Waking up by eight everyday wouldn't be a problem.

Letting the curtain slip back, Tony turned around and surveyed the room. It was lit up with reddish light, the sun bright enough to illuminate his room without aid of the overhead light or lamp. The closet was built into the wall next to the dresser, and all of Tony's new clothes had been haphazardly stored in the bottom before he'd collapsed into bed.

He'd almost been afraid to put the clothes into the dresser; what if Xavier didn't want him after all? What if he had to leave? He'd leave the clothes, because he'd promised he wouldn't steal from Xavier. Other people...maybe. But he shouldn't have any reason to steal...right?

Tony's second shower in less than twenty four hours was just as amazing as the first. He kept the water blistering hot, and he scrubbed everything twice to make sure he was really,_ really_, clean. He came out looking like a tomato, but it didn't matter. There wasn't any dirt in his hair, and he didn't smell. It was fricking awesome. Clean clothes were pretty awesome too, and he really hoped that they hadn't burned his _Fe_ hoodie or anything. The black cargo pants were a little big on him, but they'd given him a belt so it didn't matter. The t-shirt was black as well (which was weird), with a logo on the front that was simply a red circle with a red 'X' stamped in the middle. It seemed kinda symbolic, but it was clean and Tony couldn't really complain.

They'd guessed his shoe size, then given him a pair of red slip on sneakers until he could be taken out and measured for proper fitting...everything. That all depended upon his testing, and how useful he could be as a courier.

Finger combing his hair, Tony took a deep breath, slipped on his slightly too big sneakers, and opened his bedroom door. It swung with more momentum than expected, the reason hanging on the door handle. His _Fe_ hoodie was clean and folded up, tucked into a grocery bag. He'd tucked his toolkit under his pillow before setting his old clothes out to be washed per Logan's orders (they'd disappeared, and had probably been burned or something), and it went back into the waistband of his boxers. Biting his lip, Tony opted to take his hoodie back into his room and tuck it under his pillow, making the bed and pulling the navy blue comforter up and over the pillow. Xavier hadn't said he needed to make his bed, but it kinda seemed like something he was expected to do.

Not having a key to lock his door left Tony uneasy, but he was at Xavier's mercy, and he should be grateful that he'd had a bed to sleep in, let alone new clothes and food to eat.  
>"Yo, Street Rat," called Logan from the end of the corridor. The older man looked the same as he did the day before: leather jacket, blue jeans, boots. Scowl. The whole package.<p>

Tony shut his door, balling his fists at his side. He was still uneasy, and wanted nothing more than to stay in his room (maybe with some circuit boards) and not see anyone ever.

"You cleaned up good, kid. Might need a haircut at some point. Anyways, let's go get some grub."

Remaining silent, Tony trailed after Logan through the mansion, until they arrived in a dining room that had been converted into a mess. Instead of one long table in the middle, several circular tables with bench seating were scattered throughout the room. Students of varying ages were sitting at the tables, intermingled with adults who must have been the professors. Some professors clustered together at their own tables, but it was overall a huge mix of all the mansion's occupants.

On the far wall, a buffet had been set up, warmed by chafing pans (that Tony could vaguely recall from his first parents' parties). Logan beelined for the buffet, not even bothering to wait for Tony. Weaving through the maze of tables, Tony tried to keep his head down and stick to Logan's heels. From there, breakfast was a blur of delicious food and the curious stares of students and professors alike. Wanting to cry at how wonderful it felt to be full, Tony was saved the embarrassment when Logan plucked him out of his seat and took him back into the maze of corridors.

"Are you going to kill me now? Because that whole room knows I exist. So, it might make it harder to claim that I was never here," Tony remarked as they walked.

"Do you ever stop talking about that crap?" Logan barked, not looking back.

"No."

"Don't be so negative. You're a kid. Leave the cynicism to your elders."

"Uh, no? I'd prefer to be prepared to get screwed over or murdered by creepy guys in leather jackets than get caught by surprise," Tony retorted.

"Do you _want_ me to murder you? 'Cuz I don't want that shit on my conscience, bub. Sorry about your bad luck."

"Just _what_ are you telling the new students, Logan?" Asked another voice, that of a woman, who had Logan drawing up short.

Logan stopped in the middle of the hallway, grunting when Tony plowed into him from behind.

"Why'd you stop? You can't just stop without warning," Tony grumbled, stepping out from behind Logan while rubbing at his nose.

Rude.

"Is this the student Charles was talking about?" The unknown woman asked, prompting Tony to see who was actually talking. He felt his eyebrows creep towards his hairline as a very, very beautiful woman stepped out from a doorway. She had white hair that contrasted against her dark skin tone, with bright blue eyes that left Tony feeling as though she knew pretty much everything about him without even asking. It was like Xavier, but not as creepy.

She smiled when she caught his eye, then stepped forward and held her hand out.

"I'm Ororo Munroe, and you must be Tony..."

"Just Tony," Tony replied, shaking her hand.

"Then you may call me Ms. Munroe," she replied, not fazed in the least by his answer (which was kind of disappointing.)

"Well. I'll leave you with the brat, and I have faith that he can make his way back to the dining room for lunch. He's got an attitude problem, so don't hesitate to adjust it for him," Logan growled, giving Tony an impressive stink eye. Sauntering off, Tony was left with Ms. Munroe and a corridor full of awkward.

"Alright, Tony. Today we're going to be testing you on a variety of things. What was your last grade level in school?"

"Grade level?" Tony asked, his brow furrowing. What did that even mean?  
>Ms. Munroe raised an eyebrow, but was still rather calm in the face of Tony's confusion.<p>

"Public schools have grade levels that correspond with children's ages as they advance through their schooling. For instance, a normal ten to eleven year old would be in fifth grade."

"I've never been to school," Tony replied, hunching his shoulders. He'd had classes with Dr. Yinsen, and there had been tutors with his first parents. Tony knew that kids went to school - he just didn't know that _he_ should have gone to school with them.

"Oh. Well, did you attend a private school, or went to a boarding school that your parents picked out?" Ms. Munroe asked, and Tony could hear a change in her voice. What was he supposed to say?

"No. I've never been to school," Tony repeated, frowning. Had he done something wrong? He was still smart, even if he hadn't ridden the stupid yellow bus with the other kids.

"Have you ever taken classes anywhere? Or were you home schooled?" She pressed, making Tony feel uncomfortable.

"I've never taken classes anywhere," Tony muttered, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I had a tutor come. I wasn't allowed to go outside."

"Why weren't you allowed to go outside, Tony?" Ms. Munroe asked, her voice changing again.

Tony looked up at her through his bangs, taking a deep breath. He didn't want to explain himself to this woman. He _couldn't_ explain himself. She was making him feel like a stupid kid, and of all the things that Tony was, he was **not** stupid.

"I don't know. I just wasn't. But it doesn't matter, 'cause I'm really smart and didn't need school anyways. I still don't," he argued, crossing his arms over his chest.  
>Huffing a breath, Ms. Munroe didn't get angry or yell (which is what he'd expected), and instead motioned to the room she'd stepped out of. She waited for him to shuffle inside before closing the door, leaving Tony to look at a room that featured a wall of computers (that looked brand new and very, very shiny), several tables that had loose leaf paper and pencils in the middle, as well as calculators, protractors, and compasses.<p>

"This testing is going to take awhile, Tony. Let me know if you need a break. We'll go to lunch at noon, and then finish up afterwards."

"What kind of tests are they?" Tony asked, eying the papers that Ms. Munroe was pulling from a cabinet on the far side of the room.

"Aptitude tests. Tests to measure how far along you are in your education, and where your strengths and weaknesses are."

"I suck at English," he offered, edging towards a computer at the far end.

"We can work on that," she said with a laugh.

Ms. Munroe set him up with the first test, which was on the computer, and told him to take his time. The first subject was English, which sucked, but wasn't too hard. He was kind of behind on history, but he knew the basics. Science was easy, because it was his favorite, and he sped through it without any issues. Math was his second favorite, because it felt like numbers made more sense than anything else, and his entire _life_ was made of numbers. It didn't take very long, which left him kind of confused and more than a little bored. Ms. Munroe had stepped out to take care of some papers, so it left Tony alone with computers and something even better: the Internet. It felt like he was elbows deep in knowledge and theories and ideas to take apart the computers and make them ten times better by the time Ms. Munroe came back.

He'd moved away from the computer and was at a table, scribbling new designs for a computer, and updated versions of Dummy, since he got left behind at Dr. Yinsen's apartment. Thinking about it still hurt, so he threw himself into improving things, making them better, safer. Stronger.

"Tony? What are you doing?" Ms. Munroe asked, jolting Tony out of his concentration.

"What? Where did you come from?" He asked, glaring at her.

"I stepped out for a few minutes. Are you taking a break from your test?"

"What? No. I finished that forever ago. You were gone and I got bored. You should make those things harder."

Ms. Munroe fell silent, and they got into a staring contest. Tony was probably destined to lose, so he slumped in his chair with a sigh. He knew he was supposed to be good, but this was _boring_. He was just supposed to ride a bike and deliver stuff, so it didn't make sense to test him.

"...Let me check your results, and then we'll move onto another test, okay?"

"'Kay. What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock," she replied as she did something with the computer, making a weird sound when she read the screen.

"I don't know CPR," Tony called, back to sketching schematics.

"It's a good thing I don't need it," Ms. Munroe said as she slid the next test onto the table, exchanging it for his drawings.

"Hey! Give those back!" He yelled, grabbing for them.

The expression on her face said that he'd misstepped somewhere, but he didn't give a damn. Those were _his_.  
>"I'll give them back after your test, Tony. But if you want to stay here, you need to follow the rules. Test first, then you can have your drawings. I'm going to go and file your results and I will be back shortly after."<p>

Grumbling, Tony turned to his next test, making a face at it. It had shapes and patterns and number sequences, and looked boring. Grabbing a pencil, he started bubbling in the answers. This one was a little harder, if only because it got kind of annoying. It felt like he was answering the same thing over and over, which made him believe that this was just a method of torture until they let Logan take him out back and shoot him like Old Yeller or something.

Ms. Munroe came back at some point, and Tony barely registered it as he finished the test. When Ms. Munroe tapped on his shoulder, Tony was prying apart the casing of one of the calculators, tongue sticking out as he concentrated. He'd finished and moved on to seeing how the calculators worked and building a small house of #2 pencils.

"Tony?"

"Mmhm?" Tony hummed.

"It's time for lunch. I expect you to put that calculator back together," she warned.

"Can do."

Sliding out of his chair, Tony abandoned his project and followed Ms. Munroe out of the room. Hopefully the tests wouldn't take much longer, otherwise he was going to go crazy at "Xavier's School for Higher Learning". 

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><p>Six months after attempting to relieve Logan of his extra cheeseburger and a whirlwind of charity from Charles Xavier, Tony had decided that Xavier's School for Higher Learning was both heaven and hell.<p>

After taking his aptitude and IQ tests, it had been made very clear that Tony was pretty fricking smart. He'd already known as much, but it was gratifying that others knew it too. In the end, they wouldn't let him see the results of his IQ tests, which was incredibly annoying. A kid needed to know these things, even though Tony already knew he was a 'd scored off the charts in everything; whatever it all meant to Xavier, it ended with Tony being placed in an accelerated curriculum for when he wasn't running errands or getting his head shoved into a toilet by the other students.

It just so happened that while it was a school for higher learning and supposedly "gifted students", Tony was a little too far ahead (in a lot of areas) for the other students' comfort. Insecure teenagers weren't appreciative of a scrawny orphan's superior intellect, and turned to bullying as quickly as the kids he'd met on the street.

Matters weren't helped when it became readily apparent that Tony was behind on recent history by at least three years (on account of Dr. Yinsen's apartment having been an isolated cave of sheltered knowledge.) What harsh lessons he'd learned on the street paled in comparison to the cruelty of the other students, and the naive Tony that had ran away from gunshots had finally disappeared within a few weeks in the mansion.

He'd missed out on a lot of technological trends as well; Dr. Yinsen's old DELL, tucked away in a corner of the apartment, was the only tech that Tony had used, and it wasn't even connected to the internet. They'd had a VCR and an HBO package tacked onto their cable, but no new DVD players or satellite TV to break up the monotony of PBS programming and Disney tapes. His lack of knowledge painted yet another target on his back, leaving Tony to strive for an understanding of "up to date" technology. It didn't take long, and he picked things up faster than everyone else, but the time he spent learning was difficult and painful in the face of his peers' mistreatment.

The results of his tests declared him literate, and he was given access to the library and told he could work his way up to an actual computer for his room (though he wasn't allowed to take it apart.) He had a tendency to try and take everything apart; when he got caught for the fifth time sneaking into the maintenance shop after hours, Logan roughed him up a bit in the ring before giving him a pair of ruddy coveralls that were a few sizes too big to wear in the shop when he worked. It was the start of boxing lessons (with some dirty moves) and a love affair with old cars, fixing things, and grease streaks across his face.

As per the deal with Xavier, Tony did his work. It included fetching the mail, distributing the mail, fetching files, distributing files, pedaling into town to fetch more mail, packages, and sodas for the asshole students that were too lazy to go get them on their own. Every waking moment that he didn't spend in class or working, Tony was on the library computers, learning as much as he could. While he researched engineering, computer coding, and sciencey-things in general, Tony made backup plans. If there was one thing Tony knew for sure, it was that good things didn't last.

The more Tony learned about the world, the more he realized that Dr. Yinsen had been keeping him away from everything and everyone. That knowledge brought a sense of unease that never really went away.

When Tony quietly turned twelve, everything fell apart all over again.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! ReviewsFavs are welcome!_


	6. Pedal to the Metal

**A/N:** The official end to lead into the beginning! Yay! Or: Tony is finally going to meet the Avengers next chapter and I'm finished with whatever the heck the last two chapters have been. A HUGE shoutout to my amazing beta **BigTimeHiddlestoner **for being amazing! Thanks to everyone for their patience and continued readership. I appreciate it! Reviews are love!

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><p>Tony had been on a mail run when he'd heard them. Ms. Munroe, Logan, Professor Xavier. A few other faculty were present, but Tony's main focus was the discussion they were having about him.<p>

"Charles, we can't just keep him here," Ms. Munroe was arguing, her voice reaching the strained pitch she only got when Tony had blown something up, complete with burns and singed eyebrows.

"He has nowhere else to go, Ororo," Professor Xavier explained, "though I do understand your point."

"It's obvious that he has someone, somewhere. Children with genius level intellects don't just show up. We can't keep him from his family, or from those who are worried sick from looking for him."

The group fell silent, and Tony was breathing shallow pants through his mouth, his heart racing. The electromagnet ached, and he wanted to cry. Why did everyone want to get rid of him? Why couldn't they just let him suffer with the other students, but still sleep in an actual bed at night?

"What if he ain't got nobody?" Logan offered, his voice rough and low.

"It bears investigation, Logan," Professor Xavier conceded.

"Anthony's arrival coincides with the disappearance of a boy in the city, who may or may not have been staying with a former colleague of mine. If Anthony is that boy, or if he is another boy of another family, we've no right to keep him here. We don't even know his last name."

"I'll call SHIELD in the morning," Ms. Munroe offered. "They've got better resources than we do. What will we tell Tony?" Tony could practically hear the guilt in her voice, but it was apparently not superseded by her belief in his safe return to whatever "family" she imagined he might have. He hated her for it.

"The truth," Logan rumbled.

"We'll discuss it further in the morning," Professor Xavier broke in, his tone brooking no argument.

Clutching the mail to his chest, Tony shuffled away on the thick carpet as fast as he could, breaking into a run as he turned the corner. He took the time to drop it off in the faculty lounge, but didn't dawdle any longer, instead choosing to practically sprint to the other side of the mansion to get to his room.

Shoving his desk in front of the door (because he still didn't have a lock), Tony scrambled to his bed. He was still small and scrawny enough to wiggle underneath, grabbing for the shoebox that was shoved into the darkest corner. Wriggling backwards, Tony tore the lid off of the shoebox as soon as he could, revealing the miniature safe tucked inside. It wasn't very big, but Tony had reinforced it and added a tumbler he'd designed himself so that no one could get into it without a crowbar or superior lock picking skills.

Spinning the tumbler right, left, then right again, he let out a sigh of relief when the lock clicked and he could open the safe. Tugging out an envelope stuffed full of cash and the spare toolkit for his electromagnet, Tony shut the empty safe and shoved it back under the bed.

He'd been saving as much money as he could while working for Professor Xavier, and had made even more when he fixed cars in town while on his mail runs. He'd bought his own bike, bought new clothes, and filled an emergency duffel with food and extras just in case he'd have to run again.

He didn't want to run. He'd liked having a bed, and people that cared about him. He'd liked getting to work on cars and electronics and being smart. He didn't like getting bullied, but that was what he got for mouthing off and being scrawny.

Tony took deep breaths to calm down, clawing at his chest to alleviate the ache, only to find his t-shirt bunching under his fingers. It was time to go; otherwise, the bad men that found Dr. Yinsen would find the school, and Tony didn't want that. He didn't want to stay to be sent off to someone who could discover his electromagnet, and then experiment on him or take it right out of his chest.

The sound of his own gasp brought him back, and Tony shook himself to keep his mind on track. In the bottom of his closet, buried under a tool bag and odds and ends was his emergency duffel, already filled with a bit of emergency food, two spare sets of clothes, and a hat.

He'd made sure to wear the duffel out a bit, so it didn't stick out in a crowd. The hat was an idea from Logan, who said that if he wore a hat naturally, he could be naturally inconspicuous. It was navy blue, as dressing in all black was kind of obvious. He had been stocking up for a while, which including shirts not bearing the Xavier's School symbol. Tony wasn't very good at being one of the "X-Men", and he had already promised Professor Xavier that he wouldn't steal, and he'd upheld that promise as faithfully as he could.

Changing out of his courier clothes, AKA a t-shirt and jeans both provided the school, Tony pulled on a pair of raggedy jeans that were his favorite pair, despite the fraying hems and thinning fabric at his knees. He'd bought them in a consignment shop, because they fit right and they were comfortable.

While rooting around for a shirt, Tony kept one hand on his electromagnet, agitatedly tapping his fingers on the blackout casing. His toolkit was always taped somewhere on his person, and he didn't like touching it unless he had to.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts once more, Tony grabbed a t-shirt that was dark grey, which was only a little bit too big for him. Enough to keep his electromagnet hidden, yet not so big that he would get caught up on it while riding his bike.

Glancing around his room, Tony thought about what he could take with him. His bag was full of granola bars, trail mix, and dried blueberries. The wad of cash he could carry with him, and keep some to line in his socks, just in case. His spare toolkit was in his duffel, and his regular toolkit was taped to his thigh (he'd learned the hard way not to carry it in his pocket after someone almost stole it.) A small tool set with the basics got shoved inside the duffel, along with his Fe hoodie and extra socks.

Taking a canteen he'd picked up at a Boy Scout interest meeting, Tony went into his bathroom and filled it up with cold water, plucking his toothbrush and toothpaste out of the cabinet above the sink.

He caught his own eye in the mirror, scowling at what he saw. The Tony in the mirror looked terrified and pale. The Tony in the mirror looked weak, and there was no room for weakness when staying alive. Dr. Yinsen hadn't died for Tony to cry in the bathroom about running away again. Dr. Yinsen hadn't died for Tony to let someone strap him to a table and mess with his electromagnet.

Slapping his cheeks, Tony ignored his own stupid sniffling, then turned back to his room. No one would miss him for a couple of hours, so he'd be able to sneak down to the maintenance shop and grab his bike and go.

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><p>Tony had managed to make it through dinner without vibrating through his meal, though he was definitely keyed up, like the one time he'd drank a whole pot of coffee while spending two nights awake in the workshop.<p>

He knew that Logan was looking at him funny, and Ms. Munroe kept shooting him pitying glances. Tony didn't need her pity; he needed her to stop worrying about his non-existent family and trying to ruin his life.

As soon as he could, Tony left the dining room to gather his stuff. He'd planned to leave as early as he could, so he could do most of his riding at night. His bike had a headlamp attached that only worked when he pedalled, so he knew he could dive off into a ditch if someone got too close.

Glancing around his room, Tony catalogued all the things he had gotten while staying at Professor Xavier's school. Drafting paper, clothes, a clock radio that had a CD player, which he'd played AC/DC CDs that were borrowed from the library.

He'd have to leave behind his engineering textbooks, including a lot of his math books, since they were too heavy to run away with. Trailing his finger over their spines, Tony sighed. Learning had been his favorite thing about school, even if he classmates were assholes. It hadn't been too bad, but Tony could tell that he didn't belong there. Not like the other kids.

Huffing out a breath, Tony turned away to look at the time. 11:55. Curfew was over for everyone, and patrols didn't start up till 1. Plenty of time to get going.

Using every single skill he'd ever learned from Logan and the other kids, Tony slipped out of his room and through the mansion with silent footfalls and an intimate knowledge of the layout, including the quickest way to get to the shop. His duffel bag thumped against his back, but the sound was muffled and wouldn't wake anyone up (that was Tony's hope, at least.)

He'd argued with himself for hours on whether or not to turn on the workshop light, at least to make sure he'd get out without any complications, and finally gave in as he reached the door. There weren't any living quarters nearby, so flicking the light on long enough to get his bike couldn't hurt.

With the shop door shut behind him, Tony turned to flip the switch, yelping with Logan's face was illuminated right next to him.

"Jesus fuck!" Tony shouted, stumbling backwards against the door. He scrambled to get his fists up, in case Logan tried to hit him; if so, he'd go down fight.

"Shut your mouth, kid," Logan growled, taking a step towards Tony.

Tony held his ground (not that he could go anywhere), clenching his teeth as Logan stepped close enough for Tony to smell his musky cologne. He'd called it Wolverine something, though Tony knew there were other things he should be thinking about.

"Where do you think you're goin' this late, bub?"

"Town."

"For what?"

"Some of the older kids wanted snacks. 7-11 is always open."

"Horse shit."

"Why do you care?"

Logan drew back, his eyebrows furrowed, as if the question was one he hadn't expected.

"Because I have some kind of an investment in scrawny kids who run their mouths too much. What's it to you?"

"I'm leaving, and you can't stop me," Tony warned, wishing he could erase the quaver in his voice.

"I wasn't planning on it," Logan stated, crossing his arms.

"You...aren't? You're not gonna march me back to my room, or thump me?"

"I always wanna thump you, kid. You deserve it half the time. I know you overheard, and it was hard not to notice how squirrelly you were over dinner."

"I wasn't squirrelly. I'm not a squirrel."

"Coulda' fooled me. I may not be very smart-"

Tony couldn't hold back a snort, though he was quick to clap his hands over his mouth.

"Shut up. As I was sayin', I may not be smart, but I know that you're a goddamned genius, and nothing we say or do can keep you for very long. You've obviously got a past that's trying to catch up with you, and I ain't of a mind to stop you. Just wanted to see you off, kid."

Staring up at the man in awe, Tony was embarrassed to realize that there were tears in his eyes. Hastily wiping at them with his sleeve, Tony dropped his head, tucking his chin to his chest in thought. After a few moments, he looked back up at Logan with a grim smile.

"I didn't steal anything. All of the school bought stuff is on my bed."

"Figured you'd been squirrelling away cash. I know you were makin' money on the side."

Tony grinned at him, knowing it was as close to genuine as it was going to get.

"Thanks, Logan. I'm sorry I can't stick around. It's just...bad stuff happens to the people around me, and I don't want that for you guys. I don't want to be tested on, and I don't wanna go back to a place where no one cares about me."

"Glad you know we care," was Logan's gruff reply, cut short by the man's rummaging through his pockets, handing a small billfold to Tony.

"Got a little bit of cash. The ID card the Professor had made for you is in there. Trash it, keep it, I don't care. If you head back to the city, there's a group of kids somewhere in the warehouse districts. Call themselves the Avengers. Crazy ass group, but some of our kids come from there. Find 'em, and you'll be set."

"Why are you telling me this?" Tony asked, stuffing the billfold in his pants pocket (he wasn't above accepting charity.)

"You're gonna find someplace where you belong, kid. Might as well start there."

Then Logan was gone, and Tony was pedalling into the night.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! <em>


	7. Meet the Avengers

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Thanks for sticking in there and reviewing/subscribing! I really, really appreciate it! ^w^

Not too long between updates this time, of which I am especially proud of. Chapter eight is on its way, and then we get into the stuff that I've had written for a year, but didn't have a proper build up for. A few more chapters (twoish?), and then Loki!

There seem to be lots of cameos in the next chapter, so look out for them!

As always, a huge shout out to my beta **BigTimeHiddlestoner!**

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><p>After pedaling all night and spending a few hours asleep in the back of delivery truck, Tony had made it into the city. He'd avoided riding through most of the traffic, and he'd needed the couple of hours to rest his legs. Just because he'd been riding his bike every day didn't mean that he could spend three hours going without a break.<p>

Once he'd gotten out of the truck and gave the driver a twenty, Tony walked his bike down the

sidewalk and tried to get his non-existent bearings. He'd spent a lot of time around Central Park, and had gotten very good at avoiding detection while looking for food and shelter. It didn't look like he was anywhere near Central Park at the moment, though he recognized the street signs he'd passed when running away from his apartment and the sounds of gunshots inside.

Taking a deep breath, Tony steeled himself to retrace his own steps, marking each street sign and intersection in the back of his mind. At one point, he got on his bike, weaving in and out of the few pedestrians on the sidewalk, until he found it.

The apartment building was obviously for the rich, save for the one apartment on the corner with

boarded up windows and faded police tape. Dr. Yinsen's words echoed in the back of Tony's mind as he stared up at the boards.

_I love you, Anthony. You will always be my son._

_Grow up to be a good man._

_You have a very special heart._

Tony wasn't too proud to admit that he was crying, until he could scrub away the tears with his dirty hands, and then he hadn't cried in the first place. He was physically torn away from his musings when someone plowed into his back, sending him toppling in a heap with his bicycle off the curb and halfway into traffic. Too stunned to even move,

Tony had no idea what was happening as a pair of hands sporting a darker complexion appeared

in his peripheral vision, hooking under his armpits to drag him back to the sidewalk just as a truck appeared to run over the poor bike.

"What the HELL?!" Tony yelled as soon as his ears stopped ringing. Unable to get his footing, he fell backwards onto the sidewalk, the contents of his duffel bag digging uncomfortably into his back.

Looking up, he found two teenagers looming above him, studying him with a scrutiny that left the

hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

"You new around here, kid?"

Tony craned his neck to examine the teenager who spoke, finding a lean, blond teenager with blue eyes and a purple shirt with holes in it, coupled with black cargo pants and dirty sneakers. He was older than Tony by at least two years, and apparently had a bone to pick with new kids.

"Is your _face_ new around here?" Tony spat, knowing that he was only making things harder on himself. His mouth always got him into trouble.

"Last I checked, nah," the teenager replied, as if Tony hadn't just been an ass to him.

"I should really check you for a concussion," the other teenager chimed in.

Craning his neck, Tony looked to the other side to stare at the taller of the two, whose skin tone was darker, with messy curls that nearly concealed his eyeglasses and brown eyes. He was wearing a green button up shirt and some ratty brown corduroys (at least, that's what Tony thought they were) and beat up loafers. Even older than the blond, he seemed a little fidgety, but his hands were sure when he helped Tony to sit up and shined a light (that appeared totally out of nowhere) in his eyes.

"I've had those before," Tony remarked, vaguely fascinated with the way the teenager was checking him over. It felt like he actually cared, which was probably a lie, but nice while it lasted.

"Why'd you guys bowl me over? That bike cost money, y'know," Tony growled.

"Wasn't us," Purple Shirt retorted, his tone defensive.

"What Hawkeye meant to say," Mr. Curls interjected, "was that we weren't the ones that knocked you over, though we did drag you out of the street, so you didn't have to die with your bike."

Tony pushed away the guy's hands, moving to stand up. He was a little woozy, but nothing he hadn't experienced before; several swirlies in a row could achieve the same effect.

"Come on, Doc. Leave him. He's obviously a tough guy," 'Hawkeye' spat, as if Tony had gravely offended him in between not-dying and meeting strangers.

"You know we can't," 'Doc' replied.

"Sure we can. He's got nice clothes, had a nice bike, probably has a nice life, dontcha' short stuff?" Hawkeye asked.

Tony scowled at him, shaking off the rest of his vertigo to form a coherent reply."You can go screw yourself."

"Oh look, Doc! Kitty's got claws!"

"Knock it off, Hawkeye," Doc said, sighing in a way that meant he'd dealt with Hawkeye's mouth before. "Pay attention. He's got used everything. Jeans, shirts, shoes. He's been out in the sun, has a suspiciously large duffel bag, and he had a bike. Where's he going in the city with that stuff?"

"To the Y? Why the hell would I know?"

"What's your name?" Doc asked, his smile a little lopsided, but without malice.

Tony hesitated; names gave people power over other people. He couldn't be Tony Stark. He couldn't be Tony Yinsen. Maybe he could just be Tony, and find something else later.

"Tony."

"That it?" Chirped Hawkeye.

"What's_ your_ full name?" Tony asked in turn.

"Nunya. I asked you first."

"What are you, twelve?"

"No, are you?"

"Maybe!"

Tony shook his head, irritated with the teenager and his attitude. He had somewhere to be, and Hawkeye and Doc weren't helping him get there. Brushing himself off, Tony raked a hand through his hair, resettling his duffel across his back. He had only lost money in his bike, and he could probably buy another from a consignment shop.

"How about this," Doc interjected, "do you have a place to stay tonight, Tony?"

"Sure."

"Liar," Hawkeye crowed.

"Why don't you guys just leave me alone?" Tony complained, taking a few steps back.

"We can do that, can't we Doc? _Tony_ will be fine all on his own."

Doc's expression kind of reminded Tony of Ms. Munroe, and how she looked when he talked in puzzles or was caught getting into fights with the older students. She'd been conflicted between punishing him or giving him a hug, though the odds were about fifty-fifty. Her hugs had been pretty great, though.

"We _do_ have to get going," Doc conceded, "keep out of trouble, and try not to get run over, okay?"

Tony nodded, taking another step away from the older kids. Doc seemed nice enough, but Tony had met enough kids and gotten thumped enough to know that Hawkeye was an asshole and maybe a bully.

"Yeah, sure."

Doc walked away, glancing over his shoulder once before ducking into an alley. Hawkeye walked backwards, flicking Tony off before he followed Doc and disappeared.

Sighing, Tony stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, looking both ways before fetching his mangled bike. There'd be no salvaging without a workshop, so he found the closest alleway and dragged it over, the screwdriver and wrench from his duffel already in hand. He took the screws and bolts, a few of the spokes, then stripped the brake wiring with a pair of needlenose pliers. It only added a little bit of weight to his duffel, not noticeable enough to make it a bad decision.

Standing up and wiping his forehead with his sleeve, Tony stepped onto the street to get his bearings. The warehouse district was somewhere near Koreatown. Maybe. If he headed that way, he might get lucky and find the Avengers kids. If not, he'd start at Central Park and ask around. Couldn't be that difficult, could it? After all, he knew how to fight now, and he had money so he wouldn't starve. He could do this.

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><p>Tony hadn't been too dirty or scruffy to get on the buses that traveled across the city, and he'd saved time riding instead of walking or even riding his bike, (may it rest in pieces.) He got off in time to catch dinner at a hot dog cart, and wandered in the waning daylight to see if there was anywhere that screamed <em>Hideout for Runaway Kids<em>!

Crumpling up the paper from his hot dog, Tony turned down a side street, not really paying attention while he stared up at the skyscrapers around him. It made sense that he would smack right into the chest of someone, though he didn't expect to be shoved into the nearest lamppost.

"Watch where the fuck you're going," growled a teenager in a nasally voice.

Tony looked up, his teeth bared at the boy who looked to be his age. They were the same height, though the kid had stringy dirty blond hair that was combed over weird, and glasses that made him look like a jackass. His clothes looked better than Doc and Hawkeye's, but Tony could tell that he didn't live in an apartment or in a house.

"Why don't you make me?" Tony barked, knowing he was getting himself in trouble.

"I do believe I will," the guy replied, his voice grating to Tony's ears. Knowing he was going to get into a fight, he tightened the strap on his duffel, shifting into the stance Logan had taught him.

"Look at you, Mr. Boxer. D'you think you're gonna hit me?"

Those were the last words he got out before Tony punched him in the face with a right hook, catching him on the jaw with an uppercut as a follow up. The guy staggered backwards, making a stupid whiny noise as he covered his face with his hands.

"What the hell?!"

"You shouldn't pick fights if you can't take a punch!"

"I don't think I'll be the one punching after all," the teenager replied darkly, straightening his glasses as he uncovered his face.

Tony glanced around, a trill of fear racing down his spine as a teenager wearing a hockey mask appeared out of nowhere, moving to stand next to the guy with glasses. He was tall, but he'd either grown out of being gangly, or he just worked out. He wore what Tony would call a forest green long sleeved shirt, with camo pants, with combat boots. Great.

"No hard feelings, kid. No one touches Justin Hammer and gets away with it," Guy with Glasses explained.

"Justin Hammer shouldn't talk in the third person," Tony suggested, keeping his hands up, eyes never leaving Forest Green.

"Victor? Would you like to teach this punk a lesson?"

"Doom would enjoy it," replied Hockey Mask.

"Do _all_ of you talk in the third person?" Tony asked, his voice cracking a bit. He knew he wasn't going to win, but he'd be damned if he didn't go down fighting. Logan didn't waste his time teaching cowards, and Tony wasn't going to start being one just because a serial killer teenager was about to beat the shit out of him.

"Doom" took a step forward, then moved into Tony's space far faster than physics suggested he should have. Tony had semi-expected the blow to the side of his head, though that didn't stop his ears from ringing as he staggered backwards.

Doom moved in again, and while his head still felt off kilter, Tony slid under and away from the teenager's grasp, moving into a position where he could use Doom's weight against him. When Doom reached to smack him, Tony used the opportunity to jump and wrap his arm around the guy's neck with one arm, then grabbing the other arm to hold out straight underneath his chin. With Doom facing away from him, Tony shifted his weight and hip checked the guy, flipping him over his shoulder and onto the concrete sidewalk.

Doom gasped behind his mask, stunned long enough for Tony to turn and face Hammer, who suddenly looked very unsure of himself.

"I don't like bullies," Tony stated, advancing on him. He knew that he only had a bit of time before Doom caught his breath, and Tony intended to take advantage of it.

Before he could do anything, a loud whoop echoed against the walls of the buildings around them, and in the next instant the sidewalk was teeming with kids of all ages, led by Hawkeye and Doc. Hammer took a step back, glancing quickly at Doom, who was getting to his feet.

"We don't like bullies either," Hawkeye said in a too-cheery tone, leveling Hammer and Doom with a glare. He was carrying what at first glance looked like a machine gun, though Tony was well acquainted with the brand of airsoft gun (Xavier's kids had wicked aim.)

"Good to see you again, Tony," Doc said, his voice deceptively pleasant. Tony could tell that he was kind of pissed off, and instinct told him to behave.

"Hi?"

"Do you rejects know this kid?" Hammer asked, gesturing to Tony.

"We've met. Are you picking on pedestrians again, Hammer?" Hawkeye replied, leveling his gun at first Doom, then Hammer.

"Don't even say I started it," Tony growled. "You're the jackass who wanted to fight. Not my fault you can't take a punch."

"Why, you little-" Hammer began, then yelped when Hawkeye sprayed him with pellets.

"Shove off you two," Doc warned, his voice pleasant and light. The kids in their group were stony faced, standing side by side in a ring that wouldn't let Doom or Hammer escape in any direction other than the way they came.

Hawkeye brandished his airsoft gun as an incentive, dramatically wiggling his trigger finger as the two teens backed away.

"You haven't seen anything yet, _Tony_," Hammer sneered, finally turning his back on the group when he and Doom deemed themselves far enough away. He yelped again when Hawkeye sniped him, which was impressive for a gun like that, but didn't come back.

"Are you guys crazy?" Tony asked once Hammer was out of range.

"Debateable," Doc said with a firm nod.

"We weren't sure 'bout you, short stuff," Hawkeye said, ruffling Tony's hair, which was still short from the last mandatory haircut at Xavier's. Tony allowed it, if only because the guy's aim with his gun was kinda terrifying.

"Glad to know you're on our side, Tony," Doc said, though he was preoccupied with counting heads, letting out a positive hum when all of the kids were accounted for.

"What side is that?" Tony asked, rubbing the spot where Doom had cuffed him. Jerk.

"The side that's not into bullies," Hawkeye filled in, his gaze sweeping the street around them before he looked at Tony. "You're a scrappy little shit. I've never seen Doom go down so quick, unless Hulk is around."

"Hulk?" Tony asked, then shook his head. "I hate bullies. But why does that matter?"

"It just does. You got a place to sleep tonight? And don't lie to me, shorty."

Tony glared at Hawkeye, then weighed his options. He probably wouldn't find anywhere to sleep that wasn't in an alleyway, and then he'd spend time turfing out a spot for himself in the next few days.

"Will you kill me in my sleep?"

"Only if you snore," Doc replied, smiling.

"Who are you guys? Can you stop with this mysterious shit?"

"Oh my," Hawkeye gasped, clutching his gun against his chest, "Tiny here hasn't heard of us!"

"It's Tony," Tony grumbled. He wished they'd stop jerking him around and just get on with it.

Doc stepped away from the other kids, who had taken up chatting quietly with each other, then held out his hand to shake. Tony took it, his brows furrowed.

"I'm Bruce, AKA "Doc". I'm second in command of the Avengers."

"Uh," Tony mumbled, knowing he sounded stupid as he shook hands with an actual Avenger.

"Don't hog all the limelight, Doc. I'm Clint AKA Hawkeye, 2nd Lieutenant to Doc's Lieutenant. He just doesn't want to sound cool. He's secretly an old man in a teenager's body," Hawkeye stage whispered, smacking Doc's hand away to pump Tony's hand twice before spinning away.

"Alright, rugrats. Scatter to HQ, doubletime!" Hawkeye shouted, brandishing his gun.

The kids around them laughed, pushing each other in their haste to scramble down different streets, presumably all headed to the same place.

"Ignore him. He's mostly harmless," Doc apologized, running a hand through his messy curls. "We have an extra bed if you'd like to stay the night. Cap would never let us hear the end of it if we let a kid who stood up to Hammer sleep on the streets."

Tony nodded dumbly, because there was nothing else he could do. He'd expected to find the Avengers somehow, but not for them to find him.

Shrugging, he followed Doc down the street and through a maze of alley way and side streets that eventually led them to the gate of a warehouse surrounded by brick walls at least eight feet high. Tony calculated the height and weighed the probabilities of jumping off of it and surviving, trailing after Doc as he stopped in front of the gate and made some weird bird noises. After a moment it opened, and they were escorted to the warehouse by a somber pair of twins (who didn't actually sport the same hair color). The one with silver hair shot Tony a quick grin, but it went away when Doc glanced at him.

"Relax," Doc murmured. It didn't do anything to stop Tony's nervous twitching. Logan hadn't said the Avengers had a teenage power structure going on, or that he'd feel like he was being led to a firing squad. No, Logan had just thrown money at him.

The main door to the warehouse rolled open on squeaky wheels, revealing a miniature tent city the spanned the entire floor plan. A few tents were actual tents, but most of them were sheets held up by sticks or hung on a clothesline that ran across the whole warehouse itself.

A few kids ran up and down the rows, laughing while they chased each other. Others were curled up on ratty pillows reading battered copies of books, chatting quietly, or even wrestling. At the back of the warehouse, three tents were raised away from the others. Tony guessed they belonged to Doc and Hawkeye, since two tents were purple and green, though the third red, white, and blue tent probably belonged to "Cap", whoever he was.

A kitchen area dominated one corner of the warehouse, full of beat up appliances and a stove that looked like it was about to collapse in on itself. Card tables that looked older than the warehouse were set up right outside, lopsided chairs, step ladders, and buckets serving as seats for all the kids. Various metal trash cans were set up around the warehouse, and it was obvious that they used them for warmth or light at night.

Tony wondered how they all managed to not catch on fire, but his pondering was cut off when Doc led him to the Fourth of July tent. He indicated for Tony to stay where he was, while he ducked inside the tent to fetch something or someone.

Hawkeye sidled up to Tony without making a single sound, nearly scaring the electromagnet straight out of his chest. Rubbing the front of his shirt, Tony let out the breath he'd been holding in, glaring up at the older teenager.

"You're a dick, you know that?"

"With a capital 'D', little man."

"Why do they call you Hawkeye?" Asked Tony, switching tracks. He really hated short jokes.

"I'm an expert sniper, Tiny Tim. I got great aim, and I happen to be badass with a bow."

"Compound or recurve?" Tony asked absently, recalling the different types that he'd learned about at the mansion for their archery courses.

Hawkeye made a happy noise, his eyes bright when he turned to face Tony. "You know the difference? Dude, that makes you the first. I'll never afford a compound, even second hand. I've got a takedown recurve. Highly portable. That's it, shrimp. You're my new favorite."

Tony squawked when he was pulled into a rough hug that let Tony know that there was some muscle to the gangly teenager. Still, he didn't fight it too much, because he missed hugs and maybe Hawkeye wasn't so bad except for when he was being a dick and making short jokes.

"Cap's not feeling so hot today," Hawkeye explained when Tony stared at the Tent of Patriotism. "I'm sure he's gonna let you stay, because he's got a bleeding heart and all that."

"What's wrong with him?" Tony asked, peering up at Hawkeye.

"Nothing 'cept his health."

"Oh."

Doc finally emerged from the tent, followed by a tall blond who looked to be older than both Doc and Hawkeye. He was wrapped up in a blanket, layered in several hoodies, and had all the appearance of a teenager who needed bed rest and some chicken noodle soup. The first thing Tony noticed was how pale Cap was, with dark rings under his blue eyes that left him feeling uneasy. His hair was combed over in a wholesome way that reminded Tony of the old films he'd watched with Dr. Yinsen, though he really didn't want to think about that.

Dragging his mind back to the present, Tony snapped out of it just in time to catch Cap's introduction.

"I heard you punched Hammer and flipped Doom right over your shoulder," Cap began, a severe note in his voice. Despite the tone, Tony could see the uptick of a smile at the corner of Cap's mouth.

"He had it coming. I accidentally ran into him in the street, and he got nasty right off. I've spent a lot of time being bullied, and I could spot him a mile away. Then he sicced that crazy hockey guy on me!" Tony explained, embarrassed when his voice cracked.

"That's Victor von Doom," Cap explained. "He and Hammer run in the Red Skull gang that's based out of an orphanage. Still can't believe a little fella like you flipped him."

Cap wheezed out a laugh at that, but he apparently didn't let it drag him down. "Anywho. The Avengers welcome anyone who stands up against bullies. We've got a spot for you around here somewhere, but we'll have to talk if you stay long term."

Glancing around the warehouse, an idea formed in the back of Tony's mind. The Avengers were obviously the safest option, but their base camp could use a lot of work. It was convenient that Tony was good at that kind of thing.

"I fix things," he blurted out. Cap raised an eyebrow, and Doc suddenly appeared at Tony's other shoulder with the same kind of stealth as Hawkeye.

"Like what?" Cap asked, obviously humoring Tony at that point.

"I fix cars, electronics. I can wire up some decent electricity. Get a hot water tank. Fix your stove. I could weld some stuff, and maybe like...bunk beds or something? Just give me a chance," Tony pleaded. He hadn't realized how desperate he was until he heard his own voice.

"You can do all of that? You're only like, twelve," Hawkeye pointed out.

"I'm smart for my age," Tony shot back.

"No harm in giving him a chance," Doc stated, exchanging glances with Cap. Some kind of agreement happened, and Cap eventually looked over at Tony again.

"You'll be put on probation. The least we can do is put you up for awhile for fighting Doom. If you do what you say you can, we might be able to make you an official Avenger," Cap explained with a smile.

"He could lead the Tiny Tots!" Hawkeye crowed, grinning broadly. "Tiny Tony and the Tiny Tots! Yes!"

Tony shook his head, warring with the urge to punch Hawkeye in the face or in the nuts. Giving up on the archer, there was only one thing he could say.

"Deal."

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome!<em>


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